


June Lightning

by tieria



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Arcades, First Dates, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-01 06:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tieria/pseuds/tieria
Summary: Most days they were Revolver and Spectre, leader of the Knights of Hanoi and his right-hand man. Some days -the rare days- they were just kids.





	June Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Vrains Week Day 3- First Date
> 
> Pre-canon sometime. When? I have no clue. Two years ago, maybe?

“How long have you two been awake?” Kyoko asked, her voice echoing loud in the relative silence of the Kogami computer room. Ryoken and Spectre, sitting side by side with their backs to the door, startled at her question. They hadn’t heard her enter, too engrossed in their work. Just a moment too quickly they swiveled around in their chairs to face her, blinking away their tiredness in a practiced charade.

“Not long,” Ryoken lied smoothly as Spectre counted back the hours in his head, “I couldn’t sleep, so I came here after I rested a bit.”

Kyoko stared him down a moment, clearly not convinced, but Ryoken was a picture of innocence at Spectre’s side. Given how much use he’d had for that particular little trick over the years- and how well it had _worked_ on Kyoko and Aso in particular- Spectre thought it was no wonder Kyoko no longer believed him.

She let out a short breath not quite a sigh, then turned towards him, demanding the truth. “And Spectre?”

“I joined him once I woke up,” Spectre replied, which wasn’t necessarily a lie- he’d joined Ryoken working after he’d woken up from a nap yesterday afternoon.

Kyoko sighed. Before she could chastise them properly, the door opened behind her and through it stepped Aso, who gave the situation a sweeping glance before shaking his head. He gave Ryoken and Spectre a faux-stern look, more fond than anything, and pointed over his shoulder. “Out, both of you. Don’t make me look at the security logs.”

Ryoken and Spectre glanced between each other, wondering if Aso would really go that far, mutually deciding that they didn’t want to risk his (admittedly mild) wrath if he really did. The two of them scurried from their seats, leaving their work open behind them- Aso and Kyoko could only improve on it if they decided to take a look. They made to slip around Aso, where he still stood blocking the door, but he paused to lay hands on their shoulders, with the look in his eyes that meant he was about to impart some priceless life knowledge on them that they’d promptly disregard, filed away for some distant eventually.  

“Get out, you two,” Aso told them, all but shoving them out of the computer room. “And don’t try and monitor the progress from LINK VRAINS, either. We’ll know.”

“We will,” added Kyoko, softly from one of the consoles inside. Spectre had no doubt they would, after one too many times they’d been caught doing just that. Spectre was never sure how or when they’d developed the instinct for it, but he had to admit it was impeccable.

“But what about-“ Ryoken began, only for Aso to shake his head.

“We’ll be fine. You two are too young to work yourselves to death. Go outside, buy something for yourselves. Live a little bit.” At that, Aso conspicuously dropped a pile of bills in Ryoken’s palm. A quick glance down at the revealed the amount was suspiciously high. Chances were the man had pulled out most of the contents of his wallet without looking, which was something that he was both too prone to doing but that also he would never allow them to protest.

“Aso, did you-“ Ryoken began, but Aso shot him a significant look. Ryoken returned it blankly a while, and Spectre watched as his thoughts churned visibly in the pinched lines of his face- then nodded as clear and sudden realization came over him. He pocketed the money and Spectre glanced between them, wondering what exactly had just been conveyed. But before he could find his answer, Aso waved them off without another word on the matter- just wholehearted wishes to keep them safe.

“Let’s go,” Ryoken said, and wound them back from the basement to the front door, stopping for a change of clothes in their rooms on the way. Spectre stared over at his bed as he did, wondering if it wouldn’t just be better to collapse for a few hours and shake away the edges of exhaustion. He never liked being tired- it weakened his judgement, the one thing he could never allow to be compromised- not when it would be his job to protect Ryoken.

But then they’d ruin their lie to Kyoko and Aso, and so Spectre resolved himself to a while more without sleep.

When he left his room in clothes fit to go out in, Ryoken was already waiting. Carefully they avoided walking through the near-empty room that had formerly been the reception, designed for seaside parties and leisurely family afternoons. Spectre was glad for it; the beat of the heart monitor never felt like enough to fill the emptiness of a room that had been built to hold parties, lavish and grand. Ryoken was the only one who spent time there- too much, if anyone were to beg Spectre’s opinion. He supposed it was lucky that they never did. Spectre shook away the tired thoughts. They’d never have slipped through if he had slept properly last night, and he knew it.

 

Though it was well into the afternoon the breeze was still chill; Ryoken tossed a fashionable jacket at Spectre, who shrugged it on obligingly. It was a little too big around the shoulders- Ryoken’s, then- but the two of them hardly cared as they stepped outside. It matched, and that was a far more important matter than who it belonged to.

The two of them walked out the door without a specific destination in mind- as they wound their way down the drive they exchanged a quick glance. Spectre shrugged, Ryoken tilted his head slightly to the right, motioning down the road, and Spectre nodded.

The mall was close, and a sufficient enough answer to satisfy Kyoko and Aso as to how they’d spent their day barred from work- as apparently taking their laptops to a cafe to continue troubleshooting the less incriminating programs there didn’t count as _enjoying their youth_.

Why _Genome,_ of all people, had decided to lecture them about that one, Spectre had no clue- but, regardless. For now, the two of them cast away their thoughts of work as they walked together down the road in a peaceful sort of silence. It was one they both understood they didn’t have to fill, their very presences companionship enough.

The nearest mall touted itself as a _resort mall_ , though Spectre suspected the only thing that made it such was its sheer size and the volume of designer brands scattered about its premises- which the both of them took likely far too much interest in given the fact that neither of them actually managed their own finances. But today, they supposed, it was fine.

There was nothing there in particular there they needed, and the prospect of trying on clothes was almost more trouble than it was worth. Instead they walked around the mall somewhat aimlessly, picking up matching cups of tea and coffee for a quick boost of caffeine to keep them- Ryoken especially- from falling asleep on his feet. No matter how valiantly he tried to hide it, Spectre still noticed.

And Spectre noticed too that after weaving their way up a few floors, Ryoken paused in front of the arcade, a loudly humming mass of gently flashing machines beneath dimmed lights.

“Let’s go in,” Spectre said quickly, before Ryoken could catch himself and pretend he wasn’t interested. “It’s loud. It’ll wake us up.”

“We don’t have to,” Ryoken said, already turning towards the arcade, already half-turned towards the threshold.

Spectre took a step in before him and said, loud above the noise floating out loud from the depths of it, “We might as well.”

They didn’t come here often- not as often as their peers must have, certainly, but they’d been here just enough to know their way around. Ryoken wove them easily through the crowded rows towards the back, away from the ufo catchers and low-set coin machines filled with candy for children littering the front. Spectre knew without asking where they were headed. Though he’d never admit to it, there was one machine in particular that Ryoken loved- that he had ever since Aso had first taken them here years and years ago, standing at the outskirts with a stern face as he kept a watchful eye on their antics.

The machine stood alone at the end of a long row of similar games, and Ryoken went instinctively towards his usual side, Spectre curling around to stand beside him.

“Loser buys the winner a prize,” Ryoken grinned, picking up the red rifle with utter confidence. “Or wins them one. Whichever.”

“The latter seems like a terrible use of money,” Spectre pointed out, as he always did. By now he hardly meant it. Ryoken had somewhat of a strange affinity for games- not just Duel Monsters, but just about anything he laid his hands on. Spectre wouldn’t claim to understand it, but given the amount of trinkets it had won them, silly little things that had decorated their rooms over the years and that Spectre still held dearly to now, he supposed that he wasn’t particularly allowed to protest.

“But it’s more fun,” Ryoken pointed out, slipping a few hundred yen coins from his pocket into the slot, and that ended their light-hearted debate.

The game wasn’t Spectre’s favorite- if he could be said to have a favorite at all in the chaos of the arcade- but he was proficient enough at it. He wasn’t sure if Ryoken enjoyed this game quite so much because of the weapons or the story, but it was certainly some mixture of the two that seemed very _him._

He picked up his gun and prepared for the game to begin as the opening cutscene played, a familiar thing that Spectre could probably recite by heart, if he wanted. The plastic props weren’t guns in the traditional sense- in the lore of the game, they were some sort of electric pulse weapon triggered by a strange energy source their characters were assigned to protect from rogue android forces infected with some sort of musical virus- Spectre wasn’t going to pretend to understand it.

Still, it was easy enough to let himself get swept up in the flow of the game. They never played against each other, but rather together- and the rhythm came as easy as breathing. _Protect Ryoken, clear the field. Protect Ryoken, clear the field._

Spectre lost track of time for how long they played- though from how fast the waves were getting and how frantic the beat of the music had become, he imagined they were reaching the point it would simply become impossible. His focus narrowed down to nothing but the rhythm and the routine, determined to execute it with nothing less than perfection-

“Spectre,” Ryoken said at his side, shooting cross at a lunging android in his corner of the screen that Spectre hadn’t yet quite managed to reach. Ryoken’s shot hit true, and the android fell back with a melodious tone.

“Thank you,” Spectre breathed out, and took down the two that had just leapt out at Ryoken with quick pulls of the trigger. Ryoken acknowledged him with a hum- the only thing they had time for before the next wave was upon them. Like that, they managed just a few more waves before it simply became impossible, the wave of corrupted androids raking broken fingers down the screen, _game over_ flashing in a screeching tone that had Spectre wincing, glancing away instinctive as the rush of the arcade noise flooded back in all at once.

“Huh,” Ryoken said, drawing Spectre’s attention back to him, to the scores being revealed across the screen with a flutter of music notes.

Spectre blinked up at them blankly a moment and thought he might have gotten a bit carried away. He calculated the difference, and thought that he’d _definitely_ gotten carried away.

“You’re tired,” Spectre said, going for the gentlest possible explanation. In his head, he amended- Ryoken had an affinity for games, save those that required any sort of shooting. He’d already known that, so he should have limited himself a bit. Before him Ryoken didn’t seem entirely satisfied with that explanation, but nodded to save his pride.

“Not tired enough not to win you something,” he said instead, and herded Spectre towards the crane games that lined the walls. Prizes of every manner were stuffed into variations of the standard machines- plushies, of course, but also alarm clocks, various snacks with what Spectre certainly hoped were long shelf lives, game consoles, and figures from series Spectre neither knew nor particularly cared about. Still, it seemed Ryoken expected him to pick _something_. He thought about asking for the snacks, but knew Ryoken would insist on picking a prize more permanent. He always did.

Spectre turned, then pointed to the machine behind him. It was filled with plush toys, most of them round balls of fur- Kuribohs, hanging captive from a plastic hook by a rubber band wrapped around them, smashing down their fur into strange, jutting tufts and making them look rather pitiful.

“Kuribohs,” Ryoken said, not quite a laugh as he made his way over to the machine, digging around in his pockets for more coins.

Spectre tilted his head in silent question, and Ryoken shook his head. “Nothing. Just thought they were cute.”

But he wasn’t quite looking at the Kuribohs. Spectre decided not to think too hard about what that meant.

“You should pay for the six-play,” Spectre said instead, staring at the hundred yen coin Ryoken was flipping between his fingers.

“I don’t need to,” said Ryoken with a grin- the same one he’d put on at the start of their match. And despite the results of that, Spectre couldn’t help but trust the confidence behind it.

“You should still pay for it. Just in case,” Spectre muttered, thinking that they might be here forever, otherwise. Once Ryoken had his mind set on something he wouldn’t give up so easily, and there were only so many trips to the money exchange machines at the front of the arcade that he was willing to make.

“Okay,” said Ryoken, seamlessly switching out the hundred yen coin for the five hundred and dropping it into the slot, making the machine jump to life with a pleasant little jingle and a jerk of the crane. “If that’s what you say.”

He won it on the first try, of course.

Ryoken pulled the Kuriboh plush away from the plastic bands, its fur fluffing up in all directions as it did, then waved over an attendant who’d been wandering through the row to their left. Ryoken passed the Kuriboh over to him with a self-satisfied sort of grin, and Spectre just sighed. He supposed that was fair enough. He stared down at the Kuriboh, meeting its bright, beady eyes, and thought there was a place on his shelf for it right at the center.

The attendant hooked up the next Kuriboh, wings plastered tight to its side, and locked up the glass again, waving them forth for another attempt as they turned to leave, resuming their patrol up and down the crowded aisles. Before them, the machine display blinking up at them with a reminder that they still had five plays left.  

“I’ll do it in three tries,” Ryoken declared, holding up three fingers- middle through pinky, his particular way of counting off. From when and where he’d picked up the habit, Spectre didn’t know- but it was reassuringly _him._

“Good luck,” replied Spectre sincerely- the first Kuriboh had already been pushed a fair way down the shaft it was suspended from, whereas this newly set one was a fair ways back. If he were to do it in three tries, then Spectre would be nothing short of impressed. Not an unusual sentiment, when it came to Ryoken- but still.

The first attempt rattled, throwing the hanger off balance but not disturbing it enough to make it fall off the end of the rod.

The second pushed it a bit further, making it flutter close to the edge of the rod, but not nearly enough to unbalance it enough to fall.

Ryoken’s confidence wasn’t so much as shaken. He leaned down close to the glass and angled his head in a way that Spectre wanted to find ridiculous but really thought was just a little endearing. He didn’t take his time with the final attempt- instead moved with a quick precision, with certainty in his judgement. The claw descended, and the third knocked the hanger down to the bottom of the machine, the Winged Kuriboh plush clattering down the chute towards them. Ryoken pulled it out with a grin, freeing its wings from the rubber bands as Spectre shook his head. Three tries exactly. _Of course._

“Sorry, but-” Ryoken called for the attendant over the clatter of the game machines. They hadn’t so much as gone halfway down the aisle, and they returned with an air of something just below downright suspicion- thinly veiled, and doing a rather poor job of it. Again the attendant opened up the case, glancing down at the counter as they did, blinking up a pleasant ‘2’.

“Congratulations,” said the attendant with the weakest attempt at hiding their suspicion Spectre had ever had the misfortune of hearing. They hung up another Kuriboh from the back wall and stepped back, but this time didn’t so much as pretend to leave.

The attendant watched them with sharp eyes as Spectre insisted on taking over. Whatever skill Ryoken had with these machines, it had never extended to him. He thought that, if they were both lucky and didn’t want to be banned from this arcade for the rest of their lives, it wouldn’t start extending to him now.

Much to his relief, Spectre managed to push the hanger down the rod without pushing the Kuribon plush off, and with Winged Kuriboh in Spectre’s arms and the Kuriboh tucked under one of Ryoken’s, the two of them left the cacophony of the arcade. It wasn’t until they were well out into the mall and a small child stared up at him with wide eyes that he realized the attendant hadn’t so much as offered them a bag.

Ah well, he thought- there were stranger things to be holding in a resort mall, in the grand scheme of things. Childish or not, Ryoken had won them. He wouldn’t dare feel embarrassed for carrying them, not when Ryoken still seemed quite proud.

Like that the two of them wove their way back down towards the ground floor, waiting on the escalators and gazes scanning the floor for something else interesting to do. Mostly, Spectre thought, he was starting to want to just go home and sleep.

“Hey,” Ryoken said, stifling the start of a yawn as Spectre glanced over his shoulder, “Are you hungry yet?”

Spectre couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, actually. Though he didn’t actually feel hungry, he nodded- that in itself was probably a bad sign.

The escalator let out near a grouping of tables that spilled out from a few cafes on the ground floor, meant for both the overflow and for those who’d picked up food from the cube of stalls that surrounded the escalator landings. Ryoken directed him towards one, setting the Kuriboh down atop it and pulling out a seat for Spectre in a parody of fine dining- something he’d done once imitating Aso doing the same for Kyoko, and had never quite seemed to stop.

“Wait here,” Ryoken said, taking a few steps backwards to make sure Spectre didn’t follow before turning on his heel and making fast for _something._ Spectre watched his back until he skittered out of sight, around the corner of the first set of stalls with a sneaking suspicion for what might be about to happen.

There was nothing over in that back corner but sweets shops; Spectre did hope dearly that he wasn’t simply going to return with dessert and nothing else.

(Though even if he did, Spectre probably wouldn’t protest. If no one was around to ensure they ate properly, then Spectre saw no problem with letting themselves indulge for just a little while.)

It took Ryoken a suspiciously long time to return; Spectre amused himself by watching the passersby and imagining what sort of lives they must have lived from their snatches of conversation. It all seemed so dully mundane- though today, for some reason, the tirade of gossip and meaningless things seemed to annoy him far less than usual.

When he finally did catch sight of Ryoken weaving his way through the crowd again, it was with two white boxes stacked carefully in his hands, tied with brightly-colored ribbons that streamed from their sides. Ryoken grinned at him from afar, ducking around a group of young girls before making straight towards their table. He set the boxes atop the table, sliding the top one directly in front of Spectre.

“Open it,” Ryoken invited as he sat down, though it was obviously a cake box. Spectre, tentatively, did just that, wondering all the while if he should be expecting a surprise- but the moment he flipped back the lid of the box he was met with the pleasantly sweet smell of cake and frosting.

Written across the small chocolate stand with simple white letters were two words, and Spectre suddenly understood what the point of this- of what all of it- had been.

“My birthday is tomorrow,” Spectre said with a shake of his head. Ryoken looked down at his phone with an expression almost alarmed. Spectre could have laughed, if he’d thought it would be any less impolite. That wasn’t an expression he got to see very often; in the moments it lasted, he treasured it.

“You’re sure?” Ryoken asked, which might have been top of the list of most ridiculous things Ryoken had ever asked him. But Spectre wouldn’t begrudge him for it. Time had a way of slipping away from the both of them, days that tumbled into weeks into years in the blink of an eye. And, Spectre thought, the way they’d hardly slept the night before likely had something to do with it. Ryoken never did quite filter his words as much as usual when he was tired.

“I’d never forget,” Spectre replied, “I chose the day that you came back for me.”

Ryoken paused. His expression had settled out into something neutral, a little thoughtful. Not prying, but certainly curious. “I always wanted to ask. Why did you do that?”

The answer to that was very simple. Spectre met his eyes with a smile and replied- “Because I wanted to.”

Ryoken didn’t quite address that. The silence between them sat for just a moment, not uncomfortable- Spectre didn’t think that anything between them truly could be. Just that thought kept his smile on his face far longer than he’d meant.

“Well,” Ryoken said, letting out a long breath and returning Spectre’s lingering smile with one even brighter, one that Spectre wished he could see much more often than he did- “Happy early birthday, Spectre.”

Ryoken pushed the second cake box over to him, and Spectre knew better this time to expect it was anything other than cake- apparently Ryoken was determined to eat the contents of Aso’s wallet. It was more than they could possibly eat; they’d have to take the cakes back for Kyoko and Aso- and Genome too, if he stopped by today.

“I like you,” Spectre said, reaching to open it, then froze. Those weren’t the words he’d meant to say. He’d meant to say _thank you_ like any sensible person would. Across the table, Ryoken had paused, had turned to look at him with surprise. Spectre pulled his hand back abruptly, and tried to chase down his racing thoughts.

Spectre opened his mouth to clarify- _like a friend. Like a brother._ But those were lies he couldn’t speak. The truth that wanted to spill from him was this: _I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was. I idolized you, and the longer I spent with you, the faster it became_ this. _I want to protect you. I want to see you smile. I’ll follow you to the end of the earth and down into hell, if that’s how it ends._

Instead, Spectre sat there unable to summon up any words at all.

And Ryoken, suddenly, grinned mischievous as he said- “You wouldn’t have said that if you’d had more than two hours of sleep, would you?”

The words could easily have been harsh, but they weren’t a condemnation, or a rejection. They were simply Ryoken’s usual mood, and Spectre couldn’t quite figure out what to make of that at all.

“No,” Spectre replied. Suckered in by that smile, he could only tell the truth.

“Would you say it more if I said that I liked you too?”

Spectre’s gaze shot up- he’d expected the words to be teasing, and they were- but they were also far from ungenuine. Ryoken’s gaze on him was nothing but inviting.

“I’d say it as many times as you wanted to hear it,” Spectre replied, blinking in a daze, powerless to do anything but accept.

“Okay,” said Ryoken, “then say it again.”

“I like you.” He meant it no less than the first time. The words fell out just as naturally. He had to be careful- too much of this, and Spectre could get used to them.

“And I like you too.”

Spectre blinked. Something about that had seemed far too simple. He hadn’t been sure, but something about the whole affair seemed as if it should have been much more complicated- more dramatic, certainly.

Across the table, Ryoken was impossibly bright- and in a haze, Spectre said, unsure of what else to do- “Thank you.”

Ryoken burst into laughter- not a loud thing, but more than Spectre had heard from him in a very long time, a series of low chuckles that sent his heart skittering impossibly fond. Right, he thought, this was what he wanted to protect- what he always had.

“I think,” said Ryoken after a moment to collect himself, ducking his head and taking a breath, “you got that backwards.”

Spectre huffed and crossed his arms. He _had,_ which meant he couldn’t so much as defend himself. He said instead, hoping terribly that he wasn’t showing the flush he felt on his face, “Are we going to eat?”

“Yeah, we can. Here,” Ryoken said, handing him a spoon. Spectre uncrossed his arms to accept it, their fingers brushing as he did. A pleasant little touch, of which Spectre hoped there would be many more.

But just as he went to try the cake he stopped, dropping his hand back to the tabletop and looking up at Ryoken a little accusingly- though just a little.

“It’s not sliced,” he said, and Ryoken huffed at him, though it held no weight when he was still smiling that way that had Spectre’s heart beating too hard at just the sight of it.

“Just eat your cake,” Ryoken said with false harshness, and Spectre shook his head in mock disdain before digging into a pile of white frosting. He’d never liked overly sweet things, but this was good- not overpowering, just the simple taste of frosting and dark chocolate. He pushed the box back over towards Ryoken, who dug his own spoon in, coming back with far too much cake to balance on one spoon.

And Spectre sighed, but thought, reaching over the table for more- on days like this, perhaps _simple_ was all that they needed.

**Author's Note:**

> When I picked this fic up after a few months of not liking it I'd actually forgotten what the hook was so when I read all the way to the little bit about Spectre choosing his birthday as /that/ day I was really surprised lol. I really like the idea of Spectre as a very self-decided person though


End file.
